


how will I know; walk slow

by acomplicatedprofession



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, and theys!, chapter 15 spoilers, for my girls and gays, like a russian nesting doll, u open him up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession
Summary: Din isn't handling things so great. But that's okay.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	how will I know; walk slow

**Author's Note:**

> Set like... right after the end of Chapter 15. Cheers.

You bounded down the hangar ladder and stood toe-to-toe, heart stuck in your mouth and lodging up in your tonsils until the word came out thick and without eloquence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” the Mandalorian offered. He didn’t really have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes the guy was just polite to a fault.

“It’s alright.” The words left your chest hushed, conscious of the footsteps up and around you that echoed tinny on the walls of Slave 1. Soft assurances. Gentle platitudes. “You’re here now, yeah?”

Mayfeld was “dead” doing Maker knows what. Fennec and Cara were both off in the ship somewhere, probably polishing blasters and trading war secrets with each other as intimidating Outer Rim women tended to do. That or in the communications monitor room below deck, doing far more risque things. Boba was piloting and making sure none of you died. And the Mandalorian was here. Standing in the cold metal cargo hold. In front of you.

His chest, in beskar now, not that shoddy Imperial shit, shook with a sigh. “Yeah,” the helmet rasped. It sounded like he was speaking more to himself. "Yeah.”

_Why do you do that?_

_Do what?_

_You’re very… monosyllabic. It’s unsettling._

_Unsettling._

_You know you’re just continuing to prove my point, right?_

_Mhm._

_Maker, you’re infuriating._

_Yes, I am._

_Hey that was three words! Progress._

Your throat tightened with a swallow when you realized you still stood only inches apart from him. Feet shuffled backwards in the small hangar until he was left at a larger, more friend-appropriate distance. “That’s good. I’m… I’m glad.”

The air in the ship was thick, with relief and with another heavy thing. Regret, maybe? But what did he have to regret?

“Mando,” you called out as he turned to step up the ladder. Names were sacred things. You didn’t want to use his here. To dirty it by sharing. “Hey,” your hand met the cold metal of his pauldron, urging him to face you again. He was still. Always so still. “Did something happen?”

_I’m fine._

_You’re hurt._

_It’s nothing serious._

_Let me help._

_I’ll take care of it._

_Or let the kid help. Somebody._

_I said I’ll take care of it._

_Let me take care of you. Please._

His words came almost too quick. He was like that when he tried to convince you of things. “No. No, we… we got the coordinates. Everything went-”

“According to plan,” you finished for him, though your brows were still furrowed.

_What’s the plan?_

_We get the kid back._

_So… what you’re saying is that there is no plan._

_There is a plan._

_What’re you gonna do?_

_Whatever it takes._

_You’re so dramatic._

“Mayfeld wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened before he fucked off, though, which is weird because usually he never shuts up and I just...” you sighed, wiping a hand across your face and letting it drop unceremoniously beside your hip. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look,” and here your voice paused, waiting for the words to fill themselves in. “Rattled.”

_You look like shit._

_Thanks._

_Welcome. You good?_

_You just said I look like shit._

_Well yeah, but I’m trying to redeem myself. Throw me a bone._

_Then yeah, I’m good._

_You’re a horrible liar._

_Hey, you asked._

_Yeah, I guess so. Take it easy for a bit? Can’t have you falling asleep piloting._

_Glad to know your only concern is for your transportation._

_Don’t forget the paycheck._

_That too._

_Seriously, though. Go get some sleep. I’ll be here._

There was a pregnant pause, only filled in by your quiet expectance and the sounds of beskar shifting on fabric. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. Looked down, then up.

And then, before you could go to actually leave, not wanting to pry a thing open that the man wanted to keep shut and done with having to reach the words out of his mouth, you were picked up and turned around. Like a sack of ration flour. 

In literally any other circumstance this would’ve made you seethe but Din’s hands, although surprising, weren’t unwelcome. The furthest thing from it, actually.

There were two warm palms on your sides and your feet stumbled on top of each other until they both left the floor again, suspended above the metal sheeting as you were lifted up and crushingly close to a man that smelled like blood and sweat and someone else’s clothes but who still held you until your ribs cried out for breathing. 

You were set down after a moment, but not let go. Silent words seemed to fracture in the way his fingers dug into the skin of your hip, almost bruising in their insistence. He couldn’t tell you what happened, but something obviously did. Something ugly and beating loud in the two-inch gap between your chests and really, really bad.

There were only about two things in the galaxy that he was afraid of. Losing the kid was one of them. Breaking his Creed was the other.

_So what’s with the helmet?_

_What about it?_

_You can never take it off?_

_No._

_Like, never? In front of anyone?_

_Not unless it’s family._

_And what happens if you do? Take it off in front of someone else, I mean._

_You can’t ever put it back on._

_Oh, right. Sorry._

_It’s okay._

_No, it’s not. I- I shouldn’t have asked. I dunno. It just seems…_

_Bad._

_No, not bad! Not if it’s something you believe. Just… different._

And suddenly you knew why he was holding you the way he was.

The words were hitched, almost keening as your arms wound around his neck, over the thick fabric of his cape until his hands reached around the lower slope of your back to steady your ground. You could feel the indentations of his metal vambraces against your skin. You couldn’t have cared less about it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. He only let out a breath, the sound so rattled and tremulous you could almost taste the salt dew gathering in his eyes. Eyes that someone else saw.

The muscles of his arms grew firmer around you still and your body sagged, heavy in its aching realizations. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated.

To someone else more ambitious this would probably be a good time to do… a gesture. Of the sentimental variety. Neither of you lacked courage in the traditional definition, but this kind of stuff was messy. Uncharted. 

“Din,” you whispered. His helmet shot up at the monosyllable, nearly knocking you in the chin and you stumbled backwards, shaking off his apologies. So the charting of said uncharted stuff was going swell. “I,” you began, your eyes shifting around the walls and floor instead of meeting his visor. “I care about you. A lot. I hope you know that.”

There was a loud whirring overhead when the ship lurched forward, righting itself with an awkward turn and giving you a good excuse as to why you suddenly felt nauseous. Maybe you overstepped or he didn’t hear you because he hit his head? Holy shit, did he get a concussion? Was that why he was-

“I know.”

Oh.

So no concussion.

You only realized you’d been biting the bottom edge of your lip when a gloved thumb came up towards it, pressing against the soft flesh and pulling it gently out from between your teeth. A breath choked in the bottom of both your lungs. And you waited.

You couldn’t kiss him.

At least, not now. Not here. Not yet.

You were both thinking about it.

So you did something decidedly ambitious. You leaned forward and pressed your mouth to the crest of his helmet.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. But he still tilted his helmet up to meet it with two broad hands and you still left a smudge of mouthmark where your lips were damp and tender and so somehow this imitation kiss, this substitute in between a moment that was over and a moment that was coming, was real. 

Your bounty hunter echoed his reciprocation after you’d turned away, the rungs of the ship ladder icy in your palms. You always did like to one-up each other.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow can u believe it has been [checks watch] 35 hundred years since i've posted content of any kind. we love productivity. anyways hoped you liked and if you did please tell me bc I thrive off of validation and require constant praise in order to function


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